Dan vs Beauty at its Simplest
by Cielo VII
Summary: When his drinking problem gets out of hand, Dan is begrudgingly put through a rehabilitation program. At the center he meets a young girl who may very well be "the one" - but when the consequences of their relationship begin to outweigh the joys, he must choose between letting her go or taking the risk and possibly dragging her down with him.
1. Over the Line

Hi, everyone! Welcome to my first Dan Vs. fanfiction! This show deserves so much more fanwork it's not even funny.

Here's a **more detailed plot description:**

_When his drinking gets out of control, Dan is sent to a rehab clinic. Of course, he despises the very idea – that is, until an unexpected bond develops between himself and another resident. Fifteen-year-old Jeffany is a heroin addict who's seen the inside of more rehabilitation clinics than schools. Dan sees the road she's headed down and somehow wants nothing more than to stop her from reaching the edge. However, what begins as a rare bout of compassion soon becomes something much stronger. Is falling in love with a minor just another way for Dan to rebel? Is Dan just another mistake in Jeffany's life, dragging her ever further into an abysmal cycle of defeat? Or, is it possible that these two broken people simply need each other to feel whole?_

**Dan vs. Beauty at its Simplest**

**By Cielo VII**

CHAPTER ONE

Another Tuesday night, another stash decimated.

Dan had been looking forward to this all day. He'd also been dreading it.

He fell onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, cursing his one and only reliable friend for making him go on yet another job hunt. For some reason people were hesitant to hire a convicted felon.

After resting his perceived aches for a few moments, he stepped over Mr. Mumbles on the rug and started rooting through the cupboards. He was hungry, but something else needed filling first – the vast, unapproachable void that opened inside him when he went too long without alcohol.

"Meow," Mr. Mumbles said, softly pawing Dan's ankle. He bent down to scratch her behind the ear. She didn't have any food left, so he slapped some sandwich meat onto the counter and let her have her way. There wasn't a lot to eat in the apartment anymore. Dan preferred to spend his unearned money on more important things.

Spirits.

"Tonight feels like… an absinthe night," Dan said to no one in particular, pulling the smallish bottle from the cupboard.

He took Mr. Mumbles's mew as an agreement and sat on the sofa to do the only thing worth doing anymore. He popped the top off, figuring he'd be able to finish the strong beverage off in one go. He shuddered after the first gulp, but soon began to unwind at the familiar, distant warmth it provided.

As the television droned on, he became aware of another familiar sensation: an incomparable feeling of heaviness and dread. Another swig of absinthe took care of it. The gap between relief and pain would gradually shorten throughout the night. Dan sloppily wiped his lips with his wrist, then took another drink. Dizzily, he shook the bottle. There wasn't much left and he hardly felt buzzed.

Dan shook the last few drops out into his mouth, then let the bottle tumble to the floor. He'd take care of it later. He wasn't in the mood to clean.

Normally, he started out with something weak and then moved on to the stronger stuff. Tonight his routine was out of whack, but it didn't matter, so long as he got drunk enough to forget just how much he hated his life and enough to pretend this day had never happened.

He pulled two bottles of vodka from the cabinet – one half-empty, the other full. They hit the coffee table with great force before he fell back onto the groove he'd made in the sofa after sitting there for so terribly long.

Mr. Mumbles walked about the dingy room, eventually settling on the pile of covers littering the floor. Dan whipped the lid of the vodka bottle across the room just for the heck of it and sat back to "enjoy" his drink.

The TV made less and less sense as the minutes ticked by. Every time he could stand to swallow, Dan drank. He bit back nausea and finished off the full bottle and most of the other one in under an hour.

Suddenly, his bladder felt ready to burst. With a pained groan, he raised himself up from the couch. In seconds, he lost his footing and crashed to the floor, bringing half the contents of the coffee table down with him.

Grumbling, he tried to stand, but it felt as though a pair of hands was shoving him back down playfully each time. The room around him was spinning out of control. For a brief moment, he had the sense to be afraid.

Quickly, the fear passed and was replaced with an overwhelming need to vomit. Dan retched and spat out a flood of bitter liquid. He coughed and choked on the floor, simply waiting for it to be over, like always.

He shuddered and groaned in lonely humiliation as he realized he hadn't made it to the bathroom. Frustrated and in more pain than he could put into words, Dan dragged himself back to the table and turned a container of sleeping pills over and over in his hand. The label said a lot of things, but sleep was the only one he saw. He was tired. No, he couldn't sleep. He needed pills…

Tossing a handful of the capsules into his mouth, he downed them with the last couple gulps of vodka. After catching his breath, he slipped onto the floor and struggled to keep himself from hitting his head.

Suddenly, it wasn't just like any other night. He was in real trouble. He hurt worse than he did when he unwittingly ingested dairy. His head was pounding, his throat burning. He couldn't seem to raise himself up off the floor. One hand clutched at the coffee table's leg while the other clawed at the floor, looking for something, anything he could find to stop this. However, his thoughts could go no further than agonized confusion.

Turning over onto his back, the overhead light hit his eyes like a million suns. He jerked to the side and threw up, but felt no release whatsoever. Sobbing, he curled himself into a fetal position and shivered, waiting to fall asleep or die.

_Knock knock knock knock knock._

Chris shifted his weight as he awaited a reply. Receiving none, he knocked again, calling, "Dan? Dan, you up yet?"

He sighed irritably when again there was no answer. It was just before noon, so Dan should have at least been awake. Chris tried his phone, feeling stupid for doing so while standing right outside his door. His stomach sank with worry when there was no reply.

"Dan?" he called out, rapping the door even harder. "Dan, open up!"

He knew something wasn't right. Sure, Dan may not want him there, and sure, he wasn't _always_ at home, but his car was parked out front and if he'd wanted Chris to leave he would have told him by now in no uncertain terms.

Chris fumbled around in his wallet for the copy of Dan's key he'd made, praying his friend hadn't changed his lock again. He pushed the key inside, relieved when it clicked, and swung open the door.

It took him a moment to register the scene. The apartment was just as trashed as ever, and so was Dan – but never had Chris seen him this bad. He lay sprawled face down on the floor in a pool of his own fluids, looking deathly pale and still.

Chris immediately rushed to his friend's side and turned him over. A look of peace was etched on his face, and Chris panicked at the implications.

"No, no, no, no…" he repeated to himself, looking around as if an answer would be standing in one of the filthy corners of the room. Whispering, "Please be alive, please be alive," he pressed two fingers against the side of Dan's throat. Relief washed over him when he felt the weak pulse, but he soon went back to panic mode.

"Dan?" he rasped, lightly slapping his cheek and shaking him. "Come on, buddy, wake up! Come on!"

Dan gave no response whatsoever, so Chris pulled his phone out and called the first person who came to mind.

Elise placed the phone between her neck and shoulder after the second ring. "Hello?" She flinched when she heard Chris's breathless voice.

"Elise! Thank God you're there! It's Dan, it's really bad…"

Elise rolled her eyes. "What did he do this time?" She really didn't feel like dealing with him today.

"No, he's hurt! I – I just found him on the floor, he's not moving!"

Unlike her husband, Elise was able to think rationally through her concern. "Take him to the emergency room, right now!" she instructed. "Don't call an ambulance, that'll take too long. I'll let them know you're coming. Did you check for a pulse?" she heard a pause – Chris was nodding. "Yeah, yeah," he said when he remembered the context.

"Is he breathing okay?" she asked. Chris placed his knuckles before Dan's mouth, then tried to assess his breathing by listening to his chest.

"Oh, God…" was Chris's answer.

After he hung up, Chris gathered his friend up in his arms and carried him down the stairs to his car. He strapped him into the passenger seat and sped off, not caring if he got pulled over. He had a valid excuse, after all.

Every now and then, he reached a free hand over and petted his head, saying, "It's gonna be okay, Dan. Everything's gonna be okay."


	2. No Choice but to Change

CHAPTER TWO

Dan awoke in an obnoxiously bright room.

His first instinct was to sit up, but doing so gave him a head rush the likes of which he'd never known.

"Nnnnng… Chris?" He fell back onto the pillow, trying to piece together where he was.

The door creaked open, startling him. "Ah, Dan!" a doctor said jovially, stepping towards the bed. "Good to have you back, son."

Dan squinted at the doctor, trying to read his expression past the blinding light. He tried to ask what had happened, but all that came out was a scoff of discomfort.

The doctor started poking around at the machines, measuring his vitals and recording them in his clipboard. He gave Dan a mechanical smile and said, "Well, are you feeling any better?"

"Uh… what happened?" Dan managed, pressing a hand against his sore temple.

Sighing, the doctor lowered himself into a chair by the bedside and put the files on his lap. "You don't remember," he said, not even bothering to question him. "Well, you were found unconscious yesterday morning and it appears you took an overdose of sedatives. Do you know what I'm talking about now?"

Dan simply groaned. The situation didn't sound familiar in the slightest.

"You'd been drinking, so I suppose it makes sense that you blacked it out."

"Oh," he replied, suddenly wishing the doctor would leave.

The man heaved himself out of the chair and gave Dan an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "All right, get some rest. Everything's going to be just fine."

Dan cringed at the patronizing tone and pulled the blanket up over his head once the doctor had left. The light was only exacerbating his headache. Thinking about it, he realized every inch of him ached. He groaned loudly, vowing to put this hospital on "the list" when he got home.

Impatience settled in as he waited for Chris to arrive. Why wasn't he here yet?

Gingerly sticking out a hand, he clawed around on the bedside shelf until he found his phone. There were two text messages from Chris, which relieved him. For a moment, he worried he'd gone too far again. There had been times that Chris didn't speak to him for days after he got drunk, though he'd never tell Dan what he'd done or said to anger him.

Both messages were roughly the same, asking if he was all right, how he was feeling this morning. Dan slowly and numbly typed "get over here" as a reply and slammed his phone shut. He didn't feel like reaching all the way to the shelf again, so he placed the phone on the bed in front of him, tucking his hands up to his chin and closing his eyes. It was hot and stifling under the blankets, but that light wasn't doing a whole lot for his hangover.

At this thought, he frowned. It had been over a day, right? His hangovers never lasted this long.

Massaging his sore arm, he began to realize it wasn't a hangover that was making him feel like a ton of melted lead. Something he'd done had caused enough strain on his system to make him this way. Was it the pills? Dan never abused his medicine, even the kind he bought from his ex-stepdad that helped him sleep when he was angry. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing he could remember what he'd taken. Anti-depressants? Anti-anxiety? Morphine? Sleep aid?

The phone vibrated and he sleepily clicked it open to read Chris's message. "Were on our way." Dan scoffed. Couldn't even use an apostrophe?

He covered his head with the pillow. Chris had said "we," which meant Elise would be there too. He didn't want any more of her lectures about how drinking was ruining his life, about how he was going to destroy his liver, about how he needed to do something before he ended up doing something irreversible, mamina mamina!

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew the blanket was being lifted off of his head.

Dan rubbed his eyes and moaned. He didn't have to look to know who was there. "Dan, don't sleep with the sheet over your face like that! It freaks me out!"

"What took you so long?" he murmured.

Chris sat in the same chair the doctor had occupied earlier. The light wasn't quite so harsh anymore, but Dan still had to squint to look at him. He was worried, as usual. Such a sissy. For several awkward moments, he simply sat and wrang his hands together.

Elise walked into the room next, pulling up a chair next to her husband. "Hey, Dan," she said softly. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Mm-hmm," he replied sarcastically, avoiding eye contact.

Chris cleared his throat. "Look, Dan, we need to talk…"

"Not with that she-woman here," Dan said. He didn't have the energy to shout or point or even come up with a good insult. He was so beat, he couldn't even figure out why he wanted to insult Elise; not that he could ever think of a good reason anyway.

"I'm staying," she stated matter-of-factly. "I know you hate me, and to be quite honest, I'm not your biggest fan either. But I can't just sit by and watch you drink yourself to death."

"It's none of your damn business."

Elise paused. "Dan, do you know why you tried to kill yourself?"

Dan blinked. "What?"

Finally he saw something register on Elise's face that truly shocked him: hurt. He had hurt her. How? It made no sense…

"You should have talked to me," Chris said softly, placing a hand on Dan's shoulder. "We could have helped you."

"I didn't…"

"Dan, the doctor already told us everything. You tried to commit suicide by taking an overdose of sleeping pills. Don't try to deny it. The evidence was right there in your stomach, you know."

Dan sat up, putting his hands out defensively. "I wasn't trying to kill myself! Jeez, I was just drunk, I didn't know what I was doing!"

Elise and Chris exchanged a glance. Oddly enough, they had no reason to doubt him. "Well," Chris started nervously, "Even if that's true, you still could have… you know. It was a really close call, Dan."

"I don't need you to mother me," he sneered.

Elise sighed. Normally it took less than this for her to get sick of Dan, but this time she was genuinely concerned. "Here." She tossed a few pamphlets onto Dan's lap and he looked at them quizzically. "You're going; that much is certain. Don't make me regret helping you pay."

Dan was confused until he started reading the titles. "Twelve Steps Fresco? Second-Chance Rehabilitation? BRIGHTSIDE?" he read aloud with disgust. "I don't need to go to some hoity-toity, sissy-boo hoo, PSYCHO-MUMBO-JUMBO REHAB!" he argued. In the silence that followed, his friend and his friend's wife looked at him with nothing but pity. Dan smacked his chest and cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back. What was supposed to be a shout had come out more like a guttural, weak, and desperate whine.

"Please, Dan," Chris begged. "Please. Don't you want to try to get some help?"

Dan drew his knees up to his chin. "I don't need help. You need help."

Chris placed a hand on Dan's knee. His friend stared at it, watched the thumb move back and forth. His hand was so much bigger than his knee. It was so much bigger than his own hands, which clutched each other with white-knuckled fury. He shakily relaxed his grip and watched the color return to the skin his fingers had been pressing into. He felt a tightening sensation at the back of his throat and bit his tongue nearly to the center trying to hold it back. He refused to cry. Crying was a sign of weakness. To cry would be to admit to those jerks and himself that he really did have a problem, and he didn't! He was just fine!

"Come on, it'll be like a vacation," Chris said. Dan hid his face in his arms and tried to quiet the storm in his head.

"No, seriously, Dan," Elise interjected, "These places are really nice. They're meant to heal you, after all. Hey, look… this one has a spa."

Dan didn't respond.

"This one's on the beac- oh, wait. Nevermind." Chris placed 'Seashore Paradise' on the shelf where it was safe from Dan.

"Why don't we just leave you alone for a bit?" Elise suggested gently. "We'll let you give it some thought. If you don't decide on one, then we'll choose one for you. Okay?"

Dan didn't answer. He felt Chris giving him a warm hug and pretended to ignore it. Elise placed an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. He didn't raise his head until the door slammed shut.

Once alone, he began to absently rifle through the pamphlets. A few were easy to rule out – he refused to go anywhere with the word "sun" in the title or whose advertisement featured a person holding up their arms in a "V for victory." Eventually, he narrowed it down to three and stuffed them under the pillow for safekeeping. He was too tired and frustrated to think about it anymore now. He couldn't believe he'd given in. He felt like he should have put up more of a fight, but deep down he knew rehab was his only chance. Hurting his pride was worth getting out of this hell he'd gotten himself into. He covered his head with the blanket once more and whimpered. Alcohol used to be an escape, but it had quickly become just another thing he hated about his life. He hated throwing up. He hated the headaches. He hated the way he relied on it at the end of the day, and the way it made him feel, the way he expected it to make him feel different every time. He hated waking up on the bathroom rug drenched in sweat. He hated how much time he spent kicking himself for wasting his life away, but doing nothing about it.

Dan pulled the blanket off long enough to place his phone back onto the bedside table. As he did so, he noticed that Brutus was lying there, next to some dumb "Get well soon" note from Chris and Elise. Dan fumbled for the teddy bear and pulled it onto the bed. He spent a few moments simply staring at Brutus, squeezing his paws absentmindedly and stroking his soft exterior. Tears leaked from his eyes like water from a faucet; he couldn't hold them in no matter how hard he tried.

Hiding his face in Brutus's fur, he sobbed loudly, each one wracking his form as though it took every ounce of effort he had left. Hugging the stuffed animal close, he thought of how pathetic it was that a cat and some old toy were the only things in life he could count on anymore. He wished Mr. Mumbles was there. She always knew just what to say.

Gradually, he settled down, left with a tinging sensation in his head as he fell into a calm sleep.

The doctors let him go the next morning when he and Chris were able to convince them he didn't need to spend any time in the psych ward. He glared out the window the whole way home, soaking in the tense silence pervading the car. Elise spoke up every once in a while, telling him how much he'd enjoy rehab. Dan still hadn't chosen the clinic he wanted, so it was up to his friends now.

"So, Dan," Chris said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "We were thinking about this place called Second-Chance. It's just over in Wilmington, so not too far."

The name sounded familiar, but it wasn't one of the ones he'd set aside as a possibility. "It's not on the beach, is it?"

Chris sighed heavily. "No, Dan, it's not on the beach."

"Hmmmmmmm…" Dan narrowed his eyes as he watched the scenery fly past. He'd slept on it, and maybe rehab wouldn't be so bad after all. Spending time in an unfamiliar environment wasn't normally his cup of tea, but lately he'd been looking for any excuse to escape. As he thought about what had become of his day-to-day life, three square meals a day and a clean bed to sleep in sounded appealing enough.

Chris and Elise cautiously waved goodbye as they pulled away from his apartment complex. They were a bit wary of leaving him home alone after what had just happened, but Dan assured them he was feeling much better and that he didn't need their dumb faces around right now.

The fact that his first instinct was to drink surprised him. Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did. Some completely irrational part of his mind, the one he'd grown so accustomed to over the years, encouraged him to enjoy the alcohol before it was all taken away at rehab. He pondered this for a moment, stroking his goatee and searching his brain for some reason not to get hammered. He found none. Even the residual stains on the floor didn't discourage him from mixing up a few spirits.

Mr. Mumbles was staying with Chris and Elise, so he had the apartment to himself. Since he'd "adopted" her, the place just didn't feel the same without her. Once upon a time, he was used to being alone almost constantly. Now, he felt empty without the unconditional companionship of his cat. Either that or he needed something to drink about.

At around dinnertime, Chris called him to say they'd be by at 8:00 the next morning to pick him up. He ranted about being babied, but of course he couldn't be trusted to check himself in to rehab; he didn't expect to be. He just needed something to rant about.

Having recovered from his mid-morning buzz, Dan decided there was no harm in getting a little trashed before the trip. After all, it might have been his last chance – at least for a while. As he was searching the kitchen for the right stuff, he came across an unmarked bottle of pills. He couldn't tell what they were, but it wasn't as if he'd be allowed to bring drugs to the rehab clinic, so he took a few. They'd probably help him sleep anyway.

As the hours ticked by, he became so hungry he had to lie on the floor and groan. There was nothing to eat, so he drank. It worked for a little while, but eventually it all came back up. Dan crawled into his bed, just wishing the morning would get there already. There would be food at rehab, right?

To his surprise, a bit of excitement itched at his chest. Looking at the wall, listening to the sirens outside, reminded him that no matter how much he claimed to love his life, he needed to get out of this place. Though he tried his hardest to detest the idea, he couldn't. Fooling Chris into thinking he was angry at them was pointless, but then again, so was almost everything else Dan felt. He pulled Brutus out from under the pillow and struggled against the ache until he fell asleep.

Knock knock knock knock knock.

The morning light hurt Dan's eyes. He felt the almost comforting familiarity of a hangover as he pulled the blanket up over his head.

"Dan, open up!"

"Go away," he mumbled, but Chris probably didn't hear him. After what happened last time he had to ask twice, Chris didn't hesitate to use his spare key and barge inside.

"Hey, Dan," he said, shaking his shoulder. "Come on, time to go."

Dan groaned painfully. "Tired…"

"Don't make me drag you."

The minutes ticked by in silence as Dan begrudgingly dressed, brushed his teeth, and shoved clothes and random belongings into a shabby overnight bag. He was actually going. Chris was a bit shocked he didn't fight harder, but decided not to think too hard about it. He might as well enjoy the miracle.

As they walked out the door, Dan didn't have the strength to turn around and look at the mess he'd be leaving behind. Instead, he watched his feet drag against the concrete and then ducked into the backseat, using the overnight bag as a pillow.

Chris and Elise tried to strike up a conversation, but Dan ignored them and eventually they gave up. He watched the scenery fly by past his feet as he lay in the backseat, drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for the car to stop. Skyscrapers and dingy, gray smog began to fade into a nicer area. Dan sat up and rubbed his eyes, sick of lying down. Just over the next hill was a sign for Second-Chance.

Suddenly, he began to feel a twinge of regret. His life was bad, but so was change. It scared him, and there was no turning back now.


End file.
